


Decisions and Revisions

by 27dragons



Series: The Love Song of J. Buchanan Barnes [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub, Hand Feeding, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sub Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 13:10:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3327941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Then stop trying to tell me what orders you want," Steve said, "and take the orders that you're given." He kissed Bucky's forehead, gently, and reached for a tone of confidence that belied his actual feelings. "I am not always going to give you what you want. But you're going to have to trust me that I'm trying to give you what you need."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [决定与修订](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4249233) by [hamLock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamLock/pseuds/hamLock)
  * Translation into Русский available: [Decisions and Revisions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7366993) by [black_sun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_sun/pseuds/black_sun)



Steve stood outside Bucky's door, listening. It was after nine at night and Bucky hadn't come out of his room or made a sound all day. Well, Bucky had been about due for another bad day.

Steve tried to respect Bucky's autonomy on those days. Bucky hid in his room, or he clung to Steve's side like a limpet, or he went to the gym to work out for hours and hours in an effort to exhaust himself, and Steve didn't interfere.

Bucky had told Steve once -- when he was having an especially good day, not just mentally present but smiling and joking and swapping easy banter between them -- that he appreciated that. That in the hazy mental fog of those days, he clung even more desperately to the few decisions he was capable of making: where to be, who to be with, what to eat, when to work or rest. It helped him to remember that he was among friends, that he was safe.

Bucky hadn't ever said, in any mood, that he appreciated Steve checking in with him on those days, but Steve wasn't about to stop doing it.

He could force himself not to _hover_. He could keep the interaction down to once every few hours, keep the tone casual. But he couldn't walk away entirely. Couldn't, and wouldn't even if he could, because Steve needed Bucky to know that Steve would wait as long as it took. That Steve could and would do anything Bucky needed him to do, to help.

Steve knocked. "Buck? You planning to come out today?"

It had been months since the last time Bucky had skipped all his meals, which meant this had been a worse day than most. Steve knocked again. "Bucky? If you're not coming out, do you want me to fix you a tray?"

No answer. Steve might have guessed Bucky was sleeping, except that Bucky almost never slept on bad days, and even on good days was such a light sleeper he would never have missed the knocking.

Steve sighed. "You need to keep your strength up. Come on out and eat."

Footsteps, and Steve barely had time to step back before the door opened. Bucky was wearing sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, his hair hanging limp and tangled around his face. His gaze was low and distant, aimed at Steve's midsection but not seeing much of anything. He didn't speak, but it was a bad day, so Steve chose to take the opened door as a positive response.

"Good to see you," Steve said, striving for normalcy. "Come into the kitchen and I'll fix you a plate."

Bucky followed Steve into the kitchen. Steve started putting together a meal. Well, only a snack, really, since Bucky wasn't likely to eat much -- cheese and fruit and a handful of nuts for the protein, all finger foods and bite-sized bits so Bucky wouldn't have to deal with spoons and forks with shaking hands, which sometimes happened. Steve was cutting an apple into little pieces when he realized that Bucky was still standing just inside the doorway, waiting, eyes downcast and hands dangling like the limbs of an abandoned puppet.

"You don't have to just stand there, you know," he tried. Bucky didn't seem to hear him. Steve set the knife down on the cutting board and turned around. "Bucky, are you with me?"

Bucky nodded jerkily, but didn't move otherwise, or speak.

"Should I call Dr. Tranh?" Steve asked. Bucky had gone through six therapists before they'd found one he actually liked and respected. He was sometimes willing to talk to Dr. Tranh even when he wouldn't talk to anyone else.

But Bucky shook his head vehemently. "No, I--"

Steve waited, but no more was forthcoming. Steve considered calling Dr. Tranh anyway, but Bucky had made the decision. Calling her now would be encroaching on Bucky's prized autonomy at best; at worst, he might take it as a betrayal of trust. Steve decided it could wait. Maybe Bucky would reconsider after he'd eaten. It sometimes helped.

Bucky's limbs were loose but his spine was coiled, as if-- As if he were only waiting for a mission assignment before he sprang into action. "Would you like to sit down?" Steve asked carefully.

Bucky shrugged, lips pressed tightly together.

"Buck," Steve said, fighting to keep his unease out of his tone, "have a seat." He gestured toward the small kitchen table and its chairs.

Bucky immediately pulled out a chair and dropped into it.

Steve took a breath and then pulled out the other chair. He dragged it over so he could sit right in front of Bucky, knee to knee. "Can you look at me? Please?"

Bucky moved slowly, hesitant and stuttering. As if he thought it might be a test -- no, a _trap_. Steve waited, and eventually Bucky managed it. His eyes were red and watering. He let Steve hold his gaze for a few heartbeats, then looked aside again, biting his lip in shame. He kept his chin up, though, and so Steve saw when the tears filling his eyes spilled over.

Bucky made no move to wipe them away, and so Steve did it for him, cupping Bucky's face in his hands and brushing the tears back with careful thumbs. Bucky closed his eyes and leaned into Steve's touch like a cat, breath held. "It's okay, Buck," Steve said softly. "It's all right, I've got you."

Bucky's breath shuddered out and ended with a soft sob. "Sorry," he whispered. "Sorry, I'm, I can't, I..."

"Don't be sorry," Steve said. "Don't. You don't have to-- it's _me_ , Buck. It's okay. I've got you."

Bucky's gaze slipped back to Steve's for a moment, pleading, and then he was falling forward, pushing into Steve's arms, pushing his face into the hollow of Steve's shoulder, shaking with near-silent sobs.

Steve was startled and then felt a bright, hot flare that felt a little like hope; Bucky tried _so hard_ not to let Steve see his most negative emotions. This had to be a positive step, even if the moment itself was heartbreaking. Steve pulled Bucky closer, comforting.

Bucky's right arm, the human one, slid around Steve's waist, clinging. A moment later, Bucky slid out of his chair and knelt between Steve's knees, pressing as much of himself as he could against Steve's body as he wept.

Steve just held on, stroking the tangles from Bucky's hair and rubbing his back. He didn't say anything. He didn't think he could speak through the lump in his own throat.

Steve wasn't sure how long it lasted, but eventually, Bucky ran out of tears, or at least energy. He slowly sat back on his heels and rested his head on Steve's thigh. Steve kept petting Bucky's hair soothingly, willing to stay like this all night if it would help.

They sat in silence for another little while. Then Bucky took a breath that was just a bit deeper than the previous one had been and said, "Steve, I. Can I... I need, I... Would you..." He fell silent again.

Steve brushed the hair back from Bucky's face. "What do you need, Buck? You can ask me anything, you know that."

Bucky made a frustrated sound and shook his head.

Steve's lips thinned, but he kept brushing his fingers through Bucky's hair. "I want to help you," he said. "There's nothing else in this world I want more. But you have to tell me what you need, Buck."

Bucky twitched at that, and said, barely louder than a breath, "I need... orders."

Steve tried not to physically recoil. He suspected he wasn't altogether successful by the way Bucky's eyes squeezed shut. "Haven't you had enough of orders for one lifetime?" Steve couldn't help asking.

"I could trust your orders," Bucky whispered. "You... used to give me orders. Before."

Oh. _Orders_. Steve swallowed hard.

Bucky had enjoyed following Steve's orders, once. It had been a lark for them both -- the tiny Steve putting the towering Bucky on his knees, commanding him to obey and punishing him for (often deliberate) failure. That had been a thing that _Steve_ had needed, back when he hadn't been able to command his own body, half the time, much less any other thing in the world. Steve had needed that, back then.

And Bucky had played the game (that wasn't really a game) like he'd done everything else -- laughing, a sly smile teasing at his lips, testing all the boundaries without a care for consequences, coming back for seconds whenever it suited him. Steve's orders had given Bucky a satisfaction that nothing else could touch, he'd said, a bright joy that neither drinking nor dancing nor dames had been able to match.

But the definition of "orders" had changed for them both with the war, and Steve suspected it had changed again for Bucky under Hydra's influence. Steve had enjoyed giving orders back when no one had ever looked to Steve as a leader, or died while trying to follow Steve's orders. Bucky had been happy to follow Steve's orders before he'd been undone by so many orders to kill and destroy.

Sometimes Steve thought he'd be happy if he never had to give another order again. "That was before," he said, trying to keep his tone even, to hide the way his stomach was turning. "Hydra hurt you so much, I could never--"

Bucky shook his head. "Not like... They. They made me... this way. I... I _need_ orders, Steve. Everything aches without orders, without a mission. Makes it all worse." He shuddered, pushed his face against Steve's leg as if he could hide there from himself. "Want yours. Please. I remember... Your orders made everything... quiet. Calm."

If Steve understood what was sliding unspoken between Bucky's words, then Hydra had discovered Bucky's bone-deep response to Steve's commands and had perverted that tendency in him, the way they'd perverted his sniper's skill and tactical brilliance. They had made him crave it, need it the way he needed to eat or drink or breathe. That thought filled Steve with _fury_ , blind and inescapable -- but he knew without even thinking that he'd do whatever he had to do to help Bucky.

If Bucky needed orders... Well, then. Steve could give him orders, if only to soothe the frustration that kept him restless and uneasy, to lead him to taking better care of himself. Steve could do that.

He drew a few breaths, not wanting his anger at Hydra to sound in his voice. "All right," he said. "If that's what you need, Buck, of course I'll give it to you. I told you, you only have to ask." He combed his fingers through Bucky's hair one last time, then pushed his chair back, dislodging Bucky from his leg. He stood up.

Bucky didn't move, aside from regaining his balance now that he wasn't leaning on Steve. He knelt on the floor where he had been, his eyes downcast.

"Look at me," Steve said.

Bucky's response was immediate this time, his head tipping up until his eyes were on Steve's face. They were filled with hope now, not tears, and that alone gave Steve the strength to continue.

"I'm going to go to the living room and pick out something to watch. You still need to eat today, so you're going to finish cutting up that apple" --he waved a hand toward the cutting board, where the half-sliced apple was turning brown from having been left out in the air for so long-- "and then bring the plate in and join me."

Bucky looked away, trying to hide his disappointed frown. Steve caught his chin, leading him to look back up into Steve's face. "There will be more," he promised. "I don't want you thinking too far ahead."

The frown cleared and Bucky nodded. "Yes, sir," he whispered. Automatically, a remembered and habitual response to those words, Steve smiled his approval. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and headed into the living room...

...Where he promptly flopped onto the couch and scrubbed his hands over his face in half-despair. What was he doing? This couldn't _possibly_ be a good idea. He had no idea what kind of "orders" Bucky was expecting, what was needed to satisfy the craving, or what might be safe. It already didn't feel safe to Steve; he'd responded to Bucky as if their old game had been just weeks ago instead of three-quarters of a century. But that "game" had been all bound up with sex for them, and Steve was pretty sure that bringing sex into things was _definitely_ a bad idea right now, especially while Bucky was having a bad day. So, not that. Not now, not… not yet, anyway. He couldn't just let the old habits take over.

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Steve turned on the television and flipped to some cartoons, just for the background noise. _What would **I** need?_ he thought suddenly, unbidden. His cheeks heated and his breath caught in his throat as he imagined it, their positions reversed. Bucky was strong and powerful and beautiful enough to weep over, and Steve... well, Steve had all but worshipped at Bucky's feet since the first time they'd met. Bucky had been one of the very few Steve had allowed to take care of him when he was sick or hurt.

He could work with that.

When Bucky came in from the kitchen, the plate held in his right hand, his eyes low and his step hesitant, Steve held out a hand. "Come here."

He took the plate from Bucky, set it on the table next to him, and pointed at the floor. "Sit."

Bucky folded like a bad hand of cards, hitting so hard and fast that Steve nearly winced for his knees. Half-kneeling, half-sitting, Bucky wrapped his warm human hand around Steve's calf and then didn't move. Even his breathing was shallow, as if he was afraid to risk it without permission.

"Bucky."

Bucky tensed, just slightly, trying to anticipate Steve's next command. "Sir?"

"Hey, look at me."

Bucky's eyes were wide and dark. Steve brushed the hair from Bucky's face and drew a breath. "It's been a long time," he said slowly. "And so much has... I'm going to do this for you, Bucky, but we're going to start slow. I need to know I'm not hurting you."

"I don't mind pain," Bucky said.

Steve grimaced. "I know you don't, but that's part of the-- It's not really the--" He stopped, biting off his words in frustration. He tried to organize his thoughts, trying not to be flustered by the way Bucky watched him, so patient and trusting. "This is for you," Steve said carefully. "To help you. If you're not being helped, if I'm making you unhappy, you need to tell me."

Bucky frowned. "Orders don't-- It doesn't matter if-- They didn't--"

" _They_ didn't care about you. It didn't matter to them if you were unhappy. It matters to me. It matters very much. Do you understand? If it's too much, if you're unhappy, even if you've just... had enough for a while, then I have to trust that you'll tell me to stop. Can you promise me that?"

Bucky was quiet for a moment, chewing on his lip, and then he said, "I think so."

"That's good, thank you," Steve said, and some of the worry drained from Bucky's expression. "Now, you're going to eat your supper," Steve said, picking up the plate again.

Bucky's mouth scrunched into a moue of rejection, but he obediently reached for the plate. Steve pulled it up, out of his reach, and instead picked up a piece of cheese and held it out. Bucky hesitated.

Steve didn't say anything, just waited, watching Bucky's face as he considered his dilemma.

Bucky did not like opening his mouth for anyone else, and especially did not like the idea of anyone putting anything in his mouth. He had submitted to most medical examinations and routine tests impassively, even moderately invasive ones, but had refused to let the doctor check his throat, and had gone into a panic when they'd brought up dental care. It reminded him of the bite guard, he'd told Steve, barely able to speak through the violence of his shivering. It triggered his hazy memories of being wiped.

Bucky stared at the small wedge of cheese in Steve's fingers and bit his lip like he thought it might transform into a stinging insect. Steve waited. Hesitantly, Bucky lifted his left hand, his eyes flickering between the cheese and Steve's face, and took it.

Steve nodded a little, accepting the compromise. "Go on and eat it."

Bucky closed his eyes as he pushed the food between his lips. He chewed and swallowed quickly, then looked back up at Steve, hopeful and frightened at the same time.

"That's fine," Steve said. "Don't go so fast you choke yourself." Bucky all but sagged with relief, and Steve wondered what Hydra had done to him to make him so fearful.

He was probably better off not knowing.

Steve held out an almond, and this time Bucky took it more readily, keeping his eyes on Steve's face as he ate. Steve smiled and brushed his hand over Bucky's head, enjoying the way Bucky's eyelids fluttered in pleasure.

After a few more bits, Bucky relaxed a little more. He laid his head on Steve's knee, ostensibly watching the cartoons. Every so often, Steve would hold a bit of food out where Bucky could see it, and Bucky would take it and eat it while Steve stroked his hair or rubbed his shoulder.

It was cozy and comfortable, and Steve thought he could enjoy this, if he thought this was what Bucky really needed. But there was a knot between Bucky's shoulders that told Steve that this wasn't enough.

Steve waited for the current show to end, in case Bucky was actually watching it, and then turned off the television. Bucky lifted his head to look at Steve, curious.

Steve held up a bit of apple, and this time, when Bucky reached for it, Steve pulled it back out of reach. "No. Let me."

Bucky's eyes widened and he started to shake his head, then stopped himself. "Steve, I..." He was watching the apple like a venomous snake, chewing on his lip again. He took a quick breath and dropped his head back down to Steve's knee, then started nuzzling his way up the inside of Steve's thigh, kissing and nibbling through the fabric of Steve's jeans. "'M not hungry anymore," he mumbled, pressing a little closer. "Why don't you let me take care of you instead, hm?"

"Stop," Steve said. Bucky whined and nipped another inch further up. Steve put on his field-command voice. "Bucky, I said _stop_."

Bucky slouched back sulkily. "Are you trying to use sex to get out of this?" Steve asked.

Bucky just shrugged, not looking at him.

Steve sighed. "This isn't something we can just pick up where we left it off." He put the apple back on the plate so Bucky would stop watching it from the corner of his eye. "We need to talk about it first, and you're not in any shape today for that kind of discussion. So until that happens, no sex. We're going _slow_."

Bucky pouted like a spoiled kid. "Stevie--"

"Are you calling a halt?" Steve challenged. "Are you done needing orders?"

Bucky actually glared at him for that. "You're not getting it," he snapped back. "I'm _never_ done. I _always_ need orders. _Always_. Just, some days it's easier to ignore, is all."

Steve leaned forward. Bucky flinched and then raised his chin defiantly, and if Steve had any idea who had taught him such fear, Steve would be on route to a murder right this instant.

Instead, he caught Bucky's face in his hands and looked solemnly into Bucky's eyes. "Then stop trying to tell me what orders you want," Steve said, "and take the orders that you're given." He kissed Bucky's forehead, gently, and reached for a tone of confidence that belied his actual feelings. "I am not always going to give you what you want. But you're going to have to trust me that I'm trying to give you what you need."

Slowly, Bucky nodded. His eyes flicked back and forth, searching for something in Steve's gaze, and he swallowed hard. "I do trust you," he whispered, "sir."

Steve kissed Bucky's forehead again. "Thank you." He let go and sat back a little, pointing to the space between his knees. "Now. Kneel up and put your hands behind your back."

Bucky obediently shuffled into position, but as soon as he'd clasped his wrists behind him, he started looking nervous. When Steve picked up the piece of apple again, he started shaking.

"Bucky?" With his free hand, Steve touched the side of Bucky's face, caressing his cheek and brushing his hair back. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Bucky leaned into the touch, though he was still shivering. "It's like..." he whispered. "Something going in my... my mouth. It's the guard, it's the-- They're going to, to wipe me, they're going to take you away again." He bit his lip against rising hysteria, but his chest was heaving and he was blinking back tears.

"I'm not going anywhere," Steve promised. His stomach was turning again, his pulse pounding again with anger at Hydra. He'd known about the bite guard, but Steve had thought -- stupidly, blindly -- that it was the association with _physical_ pain that bothered Bucky. Steve hadn't considered -- hadn't _let himself_ consider -- what _else_ it might mean. That it was an act of utter surrender, knowing and accepting that Bucky's memories and thoughts were about to be ripped away all over again.

Steve wanted to retch, wanted to shout and snarl, wanted to _hit_ something. But more than that, he wanted Bucky to feel safe and protected and cared for. Steve swallowed down the bile and slipped his fingers through Bucky's hair again, stroking Bucky's cheek with his thumb. "I'm right here," he said again, "and no one will take you away from me again." He held Bucky's gaze, his thumb brushing away a fallen tear. "You can do this." He held up the apple piece a little higher so Bucky could see it. "I know you can."

"I'm scared," Bucky whispered, desperately seeking reassurance in Steve's face.

"That's all right," Steve said. "You don't have to be fearless. You just have to do it."

Bucky took several more fast, panicky breaths and then, holding Steve's gaze like a lifeline, opened his mouth.

Steve's chest ached as if his lungs were straining to push free of his ribs. He'd half-expected Bucky to call it quits, to say that this was too much. But that _trust_ , even after everything... Steve did not dare fail that courage. Quickly and carefully, not wanting to push too hard all at once, Steve laid the piece of apple on Bucky's tongue. "Good job," he said, brushing his knuckles across Bucky's cheek. "Go ahead, eat it."

Bucky chewed and swallowed, leaning into Steve's touch. Steve smiled and pushed his fingers through Bucky's hair. "Very good," he said, "You're so good. I know that was hard, and I'm so, so very proud of you." He cupped Bucky's chin, lightly kissed Bucky's lips, tasting the sweetness of the apple there. "You did so well."

Bucky's shaking subsided a little, his eyes still fixed on Steve's, and Steve couldn't resist kissing him again. "I knew you could do it," Steve said. Then, before he could chicken out himself, he said, "Now let's do another."

Bucky whimpered a little, but didn't protest. When Steve held up a bite of cheese, Bucky only drew a couple of extra-deep breaths to steel himself before opening his mouth to accept it. Steve lavished praise on him again, touching his hair and face, kissing his slack lips, watching as a tiny bit of the tightness and fear slowly bled away from Bucky's expression and shoulders.

If only for that, Steve thought, he could do this, if only it helped ease Bucky's fear and anger and pain. But he had to admit, as he picked out another little bite to feed Bucky, it was more than that -- it wasn't the commanding itself he enjoyed, but the unspoken license to touch and to caress; to reassure himself that Bucky was real and warm and solid and _here_. It was watching Bucky's eyes track him, it was peppering Bucky's face with soft kisses and watching color flush his too-pale cheeks with each word of praise and reassurance.

It felt good to know that he was helping Bucky, naturally -- but it was also good to know that _he_ was helping Bucky, and not Dr. Tranh, or Sam, or anyone else. Steve was honest enough to admit that to himself.

He was honest enough to be excited about the possible -- probable? -- resumption of their physical relationship, as well. He'd been pushing back the thought for months, not wanting it to be yet another pressure adding strain to Bucky's recovery. If Bucky hadn't ever wanted that level of intimacy with Steve again, Steve would have accepted that -- but he had hoped, and he was delighted to see things moving in that direction. Since he was being honest with himself.

Before long, Steve was feeding the last bit of apple to Bucky. "That's it," he said, "all done. You were so good, so brave for me. I'm so proud." He leaned forward and pulled Bucky into a hug. "You can let your arms go now," he said, and a few seconds later, Bucky's arms slowly, tentatively, wrapped around Steve's back. Steve sighed happily. "That's good, thank you," he said, "I like that." Bucky's arms tightened until Steve's ribs nearly creaked.

Bucky's face pressed into Steve's neck and he didn't speak, but each breath ghosted warm over Steve's skin as Steve's fingers combed gently through his hair.

Bucky didn't move, and Steve began to wonder if he'd screwed up, if he'd hurt Bucky or pushed him too hard. Struggling to keep his voice calm, he tried, "Hey, Buck, you okay?"

Bucky nodded against Steve's neck without looking up. Steve waited a little longer, then searched his memories and tried again. "I think you've earned a reward. What do you think?"

Bucky's breath caught, and he held it for a moment. Steve waited, and then Bucky whispered, "Can I sleep with you tonight?"

Steve frowned. "Bucky--"

"No sex," Bucky said quickly. "You said, I know, I know. Just sleep. I just... Just want to be close."

Steve felt like his innards were melting. "Of course you can," he said, tightening his hold and resting his forehead against Bucky's shoulder. "Of course you can."


	2. Chapter 2

Steve woke to an empty bed, which he'd expected; Bucky rarely slept more than five hours a night. He hadn't expected the divot beside him to still be faintly warm, though.

Steve wondered if Bucky had actually slept the full night, or if he had woken as usual in the early hours and simply laid there, waiting for a chance to slide out of the bed undetected.

Either way, it was more rest than Bucky usually got, so Steve couldn't be sorry for it. Steve rolled over, sitting on the edge of the bed and stretching. From the other side of the door and down the hall to the kitchen, he could hear movement, the sound of dishes and flatware clinking. Steve smiled to himself: if Bucky had decided to eat breakfast, it was probably going to be one of the better days.

Steve stood and stretched again, then headed out into the kitchen. "Morning, Buck," he said as he rounded the doorway. "How long have you--"

Bucky wasn't just eating. He was _cooking_ , bacon just starting to sizzle in the big frying pan and what looked like most of a carton of eggs scrambled in the bowl on the counter, waiting their turn. Bucky glanced up at Steve with a bright grin, then poked at the bacon with a fork. "Mornin'," he said. "Sorry it's not ready yet; I thought you'd sleep a little longer. Guess your sleep habits have changed some, too."

"Yeah, guess so," Steve agreed absently, still half-stunned. "You didn't have to do all this, though."

Bucky looked over at Steve again, his expression suddenly uncertain. "It's okay though, right? You didn't, I mean, I wasn't supposed to--"

"It's fine," Steve interrupted. "Of course it's fine; you live here too. You can eat whatever you want." He watched Bucky turn the bacon. "Bucky?"

"Yeah?"

"This _is_ for both of us, right? You're not thinking I'm going to be some sort of-- Um, if this is still, if we're still doing that, now."

Bucky turned the last strip of bacon, then turned to lean against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. "We are if you're still willing," he said. "I wasn't exaggerating when I said I need orders all the time now. But I feel pretty solid today, so if you can't, I'll manage." He smiled, just a little. "And yes, given the way you've been trying to feed me constantly for the last few months, I went ahead and assumed you'd want me to eat."

He picked up the fork again and started moving the bacon to a paper towel to drain. "I'm still waking up pretty early," he said. There was a hesitance to his words that made Steve think he was choosing them carefully. "If you have any particular instructions for the morning, it might be best if you give them to me the night before."

"I'll keep that in mind," Steve said. He watched Bucky drain off most of the grease before pouring in the eggs. "Can I help?" He almost winced and took it back -- he didn't want to interfere with Bucky's good mood by disturbing this new dynamic, but it wasn't in him to just sit and make Bucky wait on him hand and foot. But before he could work himself up to a good fret, Bucky hummed a little and flashed him a quick smile.

"I hadn't started the coffee yet," Bucky said as he stirred the eggs. "And if you want cheese in these eggs, you could toss it over here."

Steve took a block of cheddar from the refrigerator and handed it to Bucky before measuring out the coffee. It felt good, the two of them bumping around the kitchen together, quietly domestic in a way they hadn't experienced since before the war. And even then, every moment had been undercut with worries about money, about Steve's health, about being found out as lovers. Despite the uncertainty of Bucky's mental state and this new tension of the change to their relationship, Steve had to admit there were things to like about the future.

"You sleep okay?" Steve asked as he got mugs out of the cabinet.

"Pretty well, yeah," Bucky said. "Woke up a couple times, but went right back under. I liked knowing you were right there." He cast a look over his shoulder, and his eyes were bright and smiling. "Even if you do still hog all the covers."

"No I don't," Steve argued, relaxing a little. He hadn't realized until just that moment that he'd been worried that this familiar rhythm of joking and camaraderie would be eclipsed by Bucky's need for orders. He should have known nothing could suppress Bucky's smart mouth, though. "Besides, you stole my pillow."

Bucky just snorted in response. "Grab a couple of plates, wouldja?"

"Didn't plan far enough ahead, did you?" Steve teased as he got out the plates.

"Gimme a break," Bucky grumbled, dividing the eggs between the plates. "Haven't cooked for a long time."

He didn't look all that upset, though, so Steve just grinned as he helped split the bacon between the two plates. He put the plates on the table, then went back to the counter to pour them each a mug of coffee. When he turned back, he found Bucky standing uncertainly by the table, left hand half-raised as if frozen in the act of reaching for a chair.

Bucky glanced at Steve and then quickly away again, his gaze dropping low. His right hand curled into a fist at his side, but not before Steve saw its faint tremor. Steve frowned. Not quite frightened, but uncertain and-- shamed? Did he think he had to wait for Steve to sit first, like some sort of a servant? Or worse, did he need permission to eat at all, even for food he'd cooked himself?

Steve's breath caught in his throat, and he covered for it by setting the mugs on the table. He was going to have to get used to being angry at Bucky's Hydra handlers, he thought. He took a couple of slow breaths to calm himself before he said, as gently as possible, "Sit down and eat, Buck. Be a shame if the food got cold." He gestured to the chair, and pulled out his own.

Bucky let out the breath he'd been holding in a shivery sigh and slid into his chair. "Sorry," he breathed. "I wasn't sure--"

"Because I had you on the floor last night," Steve realized with a start. Bucky nodded, looking a little relieved that Steve had finally gotten it, and Steve felt dumb for having not understood sooner. How could Bucky trust him with this when he was so _slow_? "I think hot food is probably best eaten at the table, don't you?" Steve said. "Is-- Can I-- If I tell you to consider that a standing order, is that okay?"

Bucky nodded again. "Yeah," he said, relaxing more. "Yeah, standing orders are fine."

"All right," Steve said, relieved. "Let's do that, then. Hot food at the table, unless I tell you otherwise. And hey, Buck, if you're ever not sure, you can ask. I'll never be angry for that. Okay?"

Bucky picked up his fork. "Okay."

"Do I need to make that an order, too?"

Bucky grimaced and shook his head, then shoved a big forkful of eggs into his mouth. Steve suspected it was so he wouldn't have to answer the question more directly, but let it pass in favor of eating. It'd be a shame if the food got cold, after all.

By the time breakfast was almost over, the moment had passed and Bucky was teasing Steve about his appetite and arguing good-naturedly over who should wash the dishes. Steve was proud of him for that much. Usually if Bucky took a downturn, even on a good day, it took him hours to recover.

Steve wondered if Bucky was just having an especially good day, or if it was because Bucky knew now that he could rely on Steve for orders.

He wondered if Bucky would even know the answer if Steve asked.

This was even more complicated than it had first seemed. He needed advice.

Steve's first impulse, whenever he needed advice about Bucky, was to call Sam. Sam's advice was usually pretty sound. But he couldn't tell Sam about _this_.

Sam had willingly coached Steve through establishing routines and dealing with panic attacks and silent episodes, but sooner or later, this was going to come back to the question of sex, and Sam had firmly refused to have anything to do with Steve's sex life. "Natasha has already taken on the monumental task of your dating life," he had said, laughing. "I am not getting involved."

Steve wondered what Natasha would say if she knew about this. He wondered if--

 _Natasha is comfortable with_ every _thing_ , Nick Fury reminded him from memory.

Well. At the very least, she probably wouldn't laugh at him.

***

"I'm laughing at you," Natasha said after Steve had poured out the whole story to her on the phone. "You can't hear it, but I'm definitely laughing at you."

"Nat," Steve sighed. "C'mon, I need your help."

"You seem to be doing okay," she pointed out. "He trusts you, he's responding. Too soon to be entirely certain, but it sounds like he's sleeping better and acting more normal, too."

"But what if I go too far? Or trigger something? Or just... do the wrong thing?"

"It's probably inevitable."

"Nat."

"It is," she said seriously. "It's almost certainly inevitable that something bad will happen. But that was the case before this unfolded, too. This isn't making things any worse."

"Isn't it? If he has a, a flashback or something because of something I've told him to do, because he's following my orders--"

"Steve, he's been following your orders for months."

"What?"

"Are you telling me you never _noticed_?" Steve could practically hear her pinching the bridge of her nose.

"I... never noticed," Steve admitted. "I mean. The first few weeks he was pretty..." He paused, searching for a tactful word. When Bucky had surrendered to them, he'd been even less expressive than one of Tony's robots, responding only to specifically worded commands. It was why Steve had moved them out of the Tower and into this apartment, where they could be alone and quiet and calm, away from the constant noise and bustle of the others.

"He was very malleable," Natasha supplied. "Yes. But even when he'd started coming back to himself more, he was fixated on you. I thought you'd realized," she said. "You seemed like you were being pretty careful about it."

"I had no idea. Nat, what do I do?"

Natasha paused, thinking. "Are you positive you're okay with this?" she finally asked.

"I will do whatever it takes to help him. You know that."

Natasha hummed. "I'm sending you some links. Reading material. Ways to make sure you and your partner are both on the same page."

Steve's phone chirped and he tapped on the first link. The browser opened and Steve's eyes stretched wide for a moment before he closed it again. He looked at the second link, and the third. "Nat," he complained, "these are all about sex. This isn't--"

"Don't kid a kidder, Rogers," Natasha said drily. "It may not be about sex _now_ , but it's going to get there, and we both know it."

Steve wanted to argue with her, but couldn't.

"Read the links anyway," she said after she'd let his silence make her point. "They're not entirely about sex, actually, and some of the advice -- particularly about ensuring consent and aftercare -- applies across the board."

Steve sighed. "Okay."

"And make sure Dr. Tranh is aware of what's going on."

Steve's stomach twisted. "She won't think it's... unhealthy? She's supposed to be helping him learn how to be his own person again. To exercise his own agency. This is a step in the wrong direction, isn't it?"

"Not if it's something he chooses," Natasha said.

"But--"

"Steve, listen. He wasn't allowed any agency for so long. To have all these options in front of him now must be overwhelming, even frightening. There are worse ways to cope with that than to ask someone he trusts to take over, to help him narrow it down."

That was the tone she used when she was stepping carefully around her own past, so Steve knew better than to argue. "I suppose so."

"If Dr. Tranh knows what's going on, she can monitor Bucky's mental state with that in mind, and make sure you're not inadvertently taking advantage of the implanted compulsion to obey."

Steve sucked in a breath. "You're playing dirty," he accused.

"I do that," she agreed.

"Fine." Steve sighed. "I'll tell her."

"You could just order Bucky to do it," she suggested.

"Natasha!"

She was still laughing when he hung up the phone.

***

When Bucky came back from the tower that afternoon, Steve was sprawled on the couch and reading on his tablet. "Hey, Buck," he said, looking up, "good workout?"

Bucky grinned and kicked off his shoes. "Not bad. Thor's back in town, so I got to open it up a bit. He says hi, and to call him when you're ready tomorrow."

"Yeah?" Steve smiled. "You didn't go too rough on him, did you?" Steve and Bucky alternated sparring practice -- neither of them could stomach yet the idea of fighting each other, even to train -- but the other Avengers had more erratic schedules, so they never quite knew who would be there when they turned up. But it was hard to get a good practice in when you had to pull your punches to avoid damaging non-enhanced team members, and the Hulk didn't train (though Bruce occasionally led an hour of Tai Chi or yoga). Having Thor to spar with was a treat.

"He wiped the mat with me," Bucky said cheerfully. "Tony said to tell you, team dinner tomorrow night, since we're all in town at once, for a change."

"Good idea," Steve agreed. "I'll text him later for details." Steve took a breath -- no time like the present. "Hey, when you're done with your shower, come on back out here."

"Sure. What's up?"

"We're going to talk about some rules."

Bucky froze for a heartbeat, then tipped his head back toward Steve. "What kind of rules?"

"Rules to make sure you're safe, and satisfied, and getting what you need from me."

Bucky frowned. "Steve, I trust you. I don't need rules for that."

"I do," Steve said firmly. "If you want me to be in charge, then my number one rule is going to be that we both have to agree to the rules, and we both have to follow them."

Bucky's mouth twisted. "But if--"

"Shower," Steve interrupted. "Go shower, put on some clean clothes, and come back here. Then we'll talk."

Bucky hesitated a moment longer, hovering on the edge of argument, but he went.

He was back in less than five minutes, clothes clinging to still-damp skin, his hair loose and dripping on his shoulders. "All right," he bit off as he strode into the room, "let's hear it." He dropped onto the floor, not quite at Steve's feet, his elbow propped up on the cushions next to Steve's thigh, and glared a challenge up into Steve's face.

Steve swallowed a laugh. "Did you even dry off at all?"

"Not really," Bucky said, unconcerned. "Clothes'll soak it up. You can't dump something like that on me and then expect me to laze around."

"I suppose not," Steve said. "You can sit up here, if you want." He patted the couch cushion in invitation.

"I'm fine," Bucky said. "Steve, come on."

Steve grinned. "Some sub you are."

"Sub what?"

Steve offered his tablet to Bucky. "Short for submissive. This thing, it's… we're not the only ones. I mean, we never were, obviously, but it's a whole thing, nowadays, with its own language and etiquette. Books and websites and all."

Bucky took the tablet, but made a face. "I don't need anyone else's language and rules, Stevie. We've always understood each other just fine." He looked at the website that was loaded, his nose wrinkling in distaste even though his eyes caught and lingered, here and there. "Submissive isn't a good word for me, anyway. Except when I'm really bad off. But even then, it's..." He trailed off, waving his hand in vague dissatisfaction.

Steve had anticipated that argument already. "How about subordinate?" he suggested. "Military-style."

Bucky shrugged his good shoulder. "That's closer, yeah." He flicked at the screen, tapped on a link, then looked up at Steve with a cocky grin. "Or maybe it should be _in_ subordinate."

"You always did like to push your luck," Steve said, amused.

"Still don't think we need anyone else's rules," Bucky said, poking at another link.

"They'll be _our_ rules," Steve said, trying to be persuasive. "Keep the ones that make sense, toss the ones that don't, make up new ones if we need them. But looking through that site made me think about some things that hadn't occurred to me on my own. And, you know," --his lips pulled into an unwilling smirk-- "there's some good ideas in there. Things to try."

Bucky tapped a link and made a strangled noise at the picture that appeared. "You don't want to try _this_ , I hope," he said.

Steve leaned over to see where Bucky had ended up and made his own undignified noise. "Oh, God, no," he said hastily.

"Thank goodness." Bucky found the back button.

"But that's part of why we need rules," Steve pressed. "Even if I did want that, I wouldn't want to push you into something you _didn't_ want. You need to have a way to tell me 'no' that I won't just ignore as your usual pissing and moaning."

Bucky made a face. "That kinda goes against the point of orders, if I can just weasle out of anything, doesn't it?"

"Military-style," Steve repeated. "If an officer tells you you're on latrine-digging duty, you're not happy about it, but you do it. It's not pleasant, but it's got to be done, so you piss and moan but you do it. But if an officer told you to shoot a prisoner in the back?"

Bucky looked at Steve directly, eyes suddenly hard, angry and frightened and empty all at once. "I've spent the last half-century shooting whoever the hell my handler told me to shoot, Steve."

Steve leaned forward and put his hand on Bucky's shoulder, thumb resting against Bucky's neck. "And every time, they had to wipe you clean, strip you right down to the bones, to make sure those orders took, because deep down, you knew those orders were _wrong_. There are standing orders about what to do if the orders you're given are flat-out wrong. I'm glad you trust me not to use you like that, Buck, but I make mistakes like anyone else. I need you to have those standing orders, okay?"

Bucky matched Steve's gaze for a long moment, then slumped and looked aside. "Yeah, okay, I get it." He sighed. "I still don't think we need 'em, but if it makes you feel better, Stevie, we'll make some rules. So how are we gonna do this, then?"

Steve patted the spot next to him again. "Come up here. I had a page bookmarked with a whole list of questions. We'll go through them together and talk about them, figure out where each one falls for us on the scale from 'yes please' to 'hell no'."

Bucky surrendered the tablet and climbed up onto the couch. He leaned into Steve's side, watching over Steve's arm as the questionnaire loaded. "Lotta these look like sex questions," he observed, and his tone was suddenly very careful and neutral. "You changed your mind about that?"

Steve's heartbeat redoubled, but he shook his head. He took up Bucky's hand and twined their fingers together, sliding his thumb across Bucky's wrist. "I'd like us to get there again," he admitted. "But I still think we need to take it slow."

Bucky growled low in his throat, and huffed out a breath. "You're the boss," he said. "But just so you know, that is a five-star goddamn 'fuck yes and the sooner the better' in my book."

Steve laughed and tried to ignore the heat blossoming in his groin. "So noted."

**Author's Note:**

> Series and story title(s) are based on T. S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock". Here's hoping Bucky's story turns out a little happier than old Alfred's, huh?
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [everyworldneedslove](http://everyworldneedslove.tumblr.com)!


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